


Easy Answer

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Caring Crowley, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Protective Crowley, Romance, Stitches, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: “How the hell did you know the thing cut me?”“Because Juliet here can smell blood. I should have insisted she go with you. But, bloody idiot that I am, I listen toDean Winchesterof allbloodypeople.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for h/c_bingo for the Wild Card square, and I chose the prompt ‘blood loss.’ 
> 
> So I wanted to write some Drowley/Crowdean that included Juliet, and this is what happened.

 

Dean heard an all too familiar barking and recoiled at the sound, knife at the ready. He relaxed and dropped the knife when Crowley rounded a corner and bore down upon him, well before he could even take a breath.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Crowley demanded in that loud, intrusive way of his, and Dean was initially too shocked to push him away when hands grasped his face and squeezed his shoulder. It was as if Crowley thought Dean had been gone for years and had been touch-starved or something, when all Dean wanted to do was hole up in a corner with a couple cases of beers after the weird ass hunt he had just wrapped up.

The demon already had too tight of a grip on him as he dragged Dean into the shadows of an alleyway, meaning Dean had to pretend this wasn’t happening. Crowley could maneuver him any way he wanted with just a twitch of his fingers, maybe even a thought, and yet he was holding onto Dean like he thought he’d never see him again if he let go.

Dean hadn’t exactly done anything to dissuade him ever since Sam decided to go it alone for a while. Ever since Dean let Crowley into his room since he lied that the scotch looked top-shelf and admitted that the company wasn’t top-shelf but not exactly bottom either. It didn’t take much to flatter Dean, even less when it was coming from Crowley. And the demon had taken it five steps forward and one step back after that, like Dean had given him the go-ahead for everything.

Including mother-henning Dean when he was _perfectly fine._

“Sit. Stay,” Crowley ordered. Dean stuttered a half-protest before a sharp bark echoed around the tight alleyway, and Dean realized Crowley had been talking to his hell hound. Juliet. And Dean only remembered her name because _she_ had been hanging around too. “She’s grown quite fond of you,” Crowley mused, giving Dean the barest twitch of a smile. “Now tell me where you’re hurt so I can patch you up.”

Dean just stared at him; there was no way in hell that Crowley was perceptive enough to ambush Dean like he had. Not to mention Crowley wouldn’t dream of spying on him, not after Dean had nipped that in the bud a couple weeks prior. “What?”

Crowley shot him one of his deadly serious looks, but they always came off as adorable and that included this one. Dean wondered why he’d never told him that before. “Where you’re hurt, numb-skull. Don’t make me strip you.”

Dean felt just a _little_ off his game from blood loss, and somehow he felt himself go even paler. They were in some alleyway for fuck’s sake, and Crowley should have _way_ better taste than this. Still, there were _other_ more pressing concerns. “How the hell did you know the thing cut me?”

“Because Juliet here can smell blood. I should have insisted she go with you. But, bloody idiot that I am, I listen to _Dean Winchester_ of all _bloody_ people.”

“Shaddup,” Dean weakly shot back, more for his pride than anything else. It hurt more because he knew Crowley could see right through it, judging by the exasperated expression overtaking his adorably angry one.

And yet… a demon and his hell hound, worried about Dean. The battered hunter wasn’t sure if he could handle this on a _good_ day.

Crowley continued pawing at his clothes until Dean caved. While Crowley’s facial expressions never did him any favors by failing to result in the responses he wanted them to have, Dean _could_ see the concern seeping out of his every pore. The demon was a bleeding heart if ever there was one, and Dean was learning pretty quickly that if someone or something touched him without Crowley’s permission, he went absolutely medieval on their ass. Dean’s too when he got back. This particular reprimand would no doubt come later.

“Can we at least go inside somewhere?” Dean asked, bristling at the cold. December was approaching way too fast for the hunter’s liking, and he sure as hell wasn’t far enough south. Not to mention his clothes were torn to shreds and barely hanging on him. “I mean, it’s not exactly summer.”

“Of course, darling.” A snap of his fingers and Dean knew he was somewhere else, just out of habit because it wasn’t like he could see the change in scenery, eyes squeezed shut and sheer will narrowing the urge to puke to just nausea. Not that that was much better. “I’ve got you,” Crowley soothed, and that was when Dean realized that the demon had tight arms around him, that he was the only thing standing in the way of Dean face-planting on the grossly stained carpet Dean remembered from the night before. “I figured the familiar sight of this putrid motel room would least cause you to lose your marbles.”

Dean swallowed in place of a nod. He didn’t put it past Crowley to dump him on the ground when it was clear Dean couldn’t hold his own weight right now, but he practically carried Dean over to the bed instead, settling him down on it like Dean weighed nothing.

He cracked open his eyes slowly for fear of a splitting headache, staring up at Crowley when he found he could deal with the headache this time around. He had to admit, there were way worse things to come home to than Crowley. 

The demon caught Dean’s unwavering yet out-of-it gaze and slightly smiled. “Want me to tuck you in, pet?”

“Bite me,” Dean groaned.

“When you’re a pint or two fuller, perhaps,” Crowley teased, and Dean felt dizzier then. He started when Juliet jumped up on the bed beside him and sniffed along his shoulder, cursing as his side twinged at the involuntary movement. “Back off, Jul!” Crowley barked. Juliet made a noise of complaint, though Dean didn’t feel her leave the bed. He was distracted again until he realized Crowley had already removed his coat and was now pulling away Dean’s soaked hand and equally soaked shirt. “Bollocks,” he murmured. “You’ll be the death of me one of these days, Winchester. And far too bloody soon, might I add!”

Dean knew what he wanted, it wasn’t so hard to figure out. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it though, ready for someone to take care of him other than his brother, ready for a snarky demon riding shotgun in his baby, ready for someone with black eyes in his bed, teasing and taunting Dean in all the right places. The sex was good, the best in _years,_ but Crowley had a helluva lot more depth to him than Dean had realized before all this started.

Like right now: how quiet and gentle Crowley was as he stitched Dean up, a necessity Dean had taught him just in case he got in one of those situations where he couldn’t do it himself. Any other day and Dean would be in the bathroom, drowning the wound and his parched throat in loads of booze and stitching himself up quick just moments before passing out, every second imperative.

Now he didn’t have to worry about that, because now Crowley was wasting time with the likes of him.

The demon paused in his work, sighing softly and shaking his head. He was always drawn to Dean’s dour moods like a magnet. “I am exactly where I want to be,” he told Dean, successfully jerking him out of his useless thoughts of self-pity.

He knew he was on the verge of passing out, ‘cause he had lost enough blood for _that_ at least, but he didn’t exactly want to check out yet. Not that he didn’t trust the demon saving his damn life or the hell hound he could hear breathing behind him on the bed, just that he was mentally incapacitated enough to tell Crowley what he’d been thinking about since... forever really.

It had to come out sometime, and what better time than now?

“I love you,” Dean spit out. He still had enough brain left to flinch, enough good sense to level his head away from Crowley so he wouldn’t ruin the moment and upchuck this morning’s breakfast all over him. “I mean, I think... I think that’s what this is. _No,_ ” he licked his lips, wanting to sound convincing. “I _know_ it is, because it’s not like I don’t think about you all the damn time, and it’s not like I don’t miss you when you’re not in my bed.”

Crowley was damn warm after all, and soft too. Better than a throw pillow _any_ freaking day.

“Call it my natural charm.” His hands had paused and he was staring at Dean now, even more attentive than before. He started up again when Dean broke the silence, hurriedly though carefully finishing the sutures.

“‘M serious though,” Dean mumbled, words starting to slur, head starting to grow foggier. He heard the click of teeth as Crowley severed the thread, felt a gentle push just before his back hit something dry and scratchy.

“I know,” Crowley answered. Dean could vaguely see the demon sprawled out beside him, head held up by his hand and watching Dean lazily, like Dean had just told him to fuck off and not the _other_ thing. “I’m crazy about you too, darling. Crazier about you than my Persian accent rug and collection of mounted deer heads. Not quite sure about my prized collection of first editions though, have to get back to you on that one,” Crowley teased with this sexy, wicked grin that had Dean tingling in all the right and _wrong_ places. 

Dean could groan if he had enough energy left but he smiled instead, swearing he drooled in the process and too far gone to care. “You’re gonna be here later right, not gonna run off on me now that I dropped _that_ bomb?” It wasn’t something he had a right to ask for, not even in the face of what Crowley wanted from him. It did nothing but show just how fucked Dean was, just how much he needed trust in every conceivable form. “Or at least Jul…,” Dean suggested, too far gone to wonder why in the hell he wanted a hell hound’s company as he started to drift for good this time.

And for the first time the demon and the hell hound were in his bed the next morning, the latter taking up more than half the bed and _still_ not content, and the former pushing a scalding mug of black coffee into his hand and slipping into the space Dean had been saving for him all along.

**FIN**


End file.
